


I've been waiting (for you to come home)

by bladeangel



Series: Witchertober 2020 [3]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Depression, Gen, Geraskier, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Slash, because if i played the first game i might as well make use of it, can be read as romantic or platonic, day 3 woods, description of disassociation, gratuitos references to witcher potions and herbs, mental health issues dont go just go away, no beta we die like stregobore fucking should have, witchertober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:47:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26926849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bladeangel/pseuds/bladeangel
Summary: Everything had gone well. In fact, compared to some of Geralt’s previous experiences, the hunt and their subsequent stay in the village had gone exceedingly well, almost good even. No cuckolds, no mobs, decent prices, a mother, and child had even stayed on the same side of the road as him, instead of retreating to another path entirely. The child hadwavedat himAnd yet
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Witchertober 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1955281
Comments: 3
Kudos: 60





	I've been waiting (for you to come home)

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this in four hours tonight! its seven o clock now and i need to go to bed! the response on this series has been wonderful and i keep rereading the comments i've gotten! Sorry for being slow to respond btw! This was written for the witchertober 2020 day 3 prompt woods. It's a bit of a depature for me since I'm a) writing mainly from Geralt and b) not just piling angst on top of angst and calling it a day. This one is a lot sweeter, for certain. I've also found the my favourite part of writing Geralt as a writer who hates dialouge is the fact that he never has any idea what to say himself.

The hunt had gone well. For a given definition of the word that is. A promising Algoul contract that had turned out to be a small group of fairly weak Fleders instead, Geralt did not even need to touch any of his potions or tend to some new wound. Luck was with him that day, as the contractor, upon being handed Fleder fangs instead of the expected Alghoul parts, still payed the full price. As, in the alderman’s words, the spirit of the contract had been fulfilled even if the letter of it had not.

Coin purse somewhat heavier, Geralt and his companion had left the village behind at first light. Jaskier’s performance too, Geralt gathered, had gone well. The bard was flush with inspiration in the way he only ever got after a good performance. The human spent most of the day with his attention turned inwards, the odd hum or snapping of a potential beat the only sound to break the quiet between them. Bright eyes fixed somewhere in the middle distance, Jaskier kept a steady, even pace beside Roach, his youthful face set in the intent expression he often wore when composing without the benefit of a quill, book or desk to hand – Geralt made a mental note to stop a bit earlier so that Jaskier could take advantage of the extra light.

Everything had gone well. In fact, compared to some of Geralt’s previous experiences, the hunt and their subsequent stay in the village had gone exceedingly well, almost good even. No cuckolds or angry mobs, decent prices. a mother, and child had even stayed on the same side of the road as him, instead of retreating to another path entirely. The child had _waved_ at him _._

And yet the exhaustion woven deep in his joints did not seem to care whether things had gone well or not. It was the same tiredness that led to sleepless nights spent staring at inn roofs and forest canopies. His mind and body too fatigued to be productive and yet unable to sleep or rest. A constant state of limbo that not even meditation, when he could even muster up the clarity of mind to attempt it, could alleviate.

With a glance to check the position of the sun, Geralt decided that it was time for them to stop for the day. With a nudge to Roach and a gesture to catch his companion’s attention Geralt turned them off the path and deeper into the woods surrounding them. Half-heartedly following the sound of a small stream somewhere north-east of them, Geralt braced himself for the work ahead of him. The everyday tasks of making camp that, in his current state, weighed on him more heavily than a Kikimora corpse slung across his back. It was a familiar routine; find a suitable camping place for him and his human, check for nearby monsters or beasts, tend to Roach, catch or forage dinner, maintain his swords and armour, check his stock of potions, ingredients and oils, replace anything that was running low, eat, update his contract journal, check the parameter again, try to sleep. Just the thought of dragging his sluggish body through the tasks ahead of him was enough to cause another surge of exhaustion to creep through him.

Had it been even five years previous, Geralt would have simply dragged his exhausted body outside the bounds of the village, laid his bedroll somewhere convenient in the nearby woods, let Roach loose to look after herself and waited out the lethargy that had gripped him. He would have worried about food and drink and shelter after the exhaustion that clung to his joints and settled over his mind had passed. Witchers, after all, were able to last several days without food or water before their ability to fight became compromised.

Companionship meant that Geralt now had a routine and a series of responsibilities to kept him moving forward. The steady motion of Roach beneath him was the only thing that kept Geralt upright and present enough to keep watch for a resting place safe enough for him and his more fragile companion. Even then Geralt could feel the way the inexplicable fatigue slowed his reactions, the way sounds, and scents and sights slipped without his notice. The sun was still up, Geralt knew, yet everything seemed to grow darker, Jaskier beside him reduced to nothing but a muffled hum, his eyes grew blurry and Geralt knew that he would not be able to keep going for much longer.

* * *

When Geralt found his attention drifting outward again he found himself seated on a log in a small clearing. It took a few more minutes for the blur of his eyes to dissipate. The scene before him became gradually clearer, sounds and scents slowly drifted back into his notice as Geralt rolled his shoulders, the exhaustion compressing his worry under its inoxerable until all that was left was a flat plain of emptiness and apathy.

It was true night now and a small fire burned merrily before him. A small pot of what smelled like stew bubbled away nestled in the heart of its flames. Seated across from him was Jaskier, intent on a small book, he looked up and spared Geralt a small wave.

“Welcome back, my dear.”, Jaskier greeted him, lips quirked in a gentle smile.

After a moment of too long quiet Geralt let out a small grunt in response, golden eyes flicked around to get a sense of where they were. The clearing was small and safe, no scent of monsters or predators in the area. Roach stood to one side, coat brushed, eating calmly, her tack had been taken care off and set to one side. Propped up beside it were his swords, and a small pile of what looked to be his armour. A glance back towards Jaskier showed blue eyes watching him with fondness, journal tucked away again.

“I found some fool’s parsley and beggertick blossoms while searching for dinner.”, he nodded towards Geralt’s bag of alchemical ingredients, set neatly next to the rest of his gear, as he handed over a bowl.

“You’re running low on Kiss and Blizzard, there’s enough Cat and Swallow to last at least a few more hunts if you use them sparingly” Jaskier continued, “There were enough beggertick blossoms that you could trade some for what you need at the next town if you think it might be easier?”.

Geralt stared at his companion in silence, at that soft smile and those gentle fingers. He looked to the side, where his gear was arranged carefully, conspicuously clean – _a Witchers sword is his life-_ , next to a content Roach. He looked at the rest of the clearing, the bed rolls laid out side by side, the extra blanket folded over his. Down to the warm fire and filling rabbit stew. His eyes flicked across the defensible clearing, to the alchemical ingredients sorted and prepared for later use, to those blue eyes.

“Yeah.”.

The near silent word was greeted with another brilliant smile, strong fingers twisting silver rings around and around in happiness of a job well-done. Geralt hmm’d in something close to satisfaction and tucked into the stew with the single-minded focus of the dead tired.

“I was thinking, my dear Witcher.”, Jaskier said into the soft silence between them, “These woods are beautiful! I saw what seemed to be some elven ruins on our way here, there’s a lot of inspiration that can be drawn from a place like this.”

Calm confidence melting into nervous rambling Jaskier cut himself off with a breath. “How about we stay here for a few days, soak in the sights, rest? We have nowhere urgent to be after all.”

Geralt looked up to meet his eyes and an odd tender sensation took root in his ribcage. “Sure.”, he replied stuck for words in the face of his exhaustion.

Stew finished and with no urgent tasks to attend to Geralt shuffled over to his bedroll. Geralt’s feet dragged with fatigue and his eyes had started blurring at the edges again. Geralt laid down with little ceremony on his side, already his eyelids drooped with sleep, the warmth of the extra blanket and the hearty stew coming together to lull him towards rest.

Around them the clearing was silent, save for the crackling of the fire and the soft human sounds of Jaskier getting ready for bed. And yet the silence between two of them said far more than any simple word or declaration.

Geralt hummed into the quiet space around them, pulling the blanket higher over his shoulder. He worked his jaw and set his tired mind to string together the right sequence of sounds to respond.

“Thank you.”.

“Always, My Witcher”.

The exhaustion was no less pervasive then before and unlikely to pass for some time yet, Geralt knew. Yet for once coming out the other side did not seem like the daunting task it had always been before.

**Author's Note:**

> Projecting your depression and mental illnesses onto fictional characters? its more likely than you think!  
> Please feel free to send me any comments or feedback you have! they make my day!  
> Title from The Amazing Devil.


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